


Death and Destiny

by supernovainparadise



Series: The Witcher and The Bard [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Half-Elf Jaskier, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mage Jaskier | Dandelion, Spoilers, post season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:41:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22231972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernovainparadise/pseuds/supernovainparadise
Summary: "Why, because you're sick of being second best-" Tissaia said, scowling at the mage's back as he retreated."I AM SECOND TO NO ONE!" Jaskier yelled, spinning on his heel as the room echoed with his words and tears streamed down his face."You are second so long as you refuse to acknowledge your full power! You are so much more than this, Julian..." Tissaia whispered, looking into his eyes. "And you know that too."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher and The Bard [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596664
Comments: 9
Kudos: 713





	Death and Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place a short time after the first one-shot, maybe a couple of months after Jaskier and Geralt begin traveling together again. They end up in Temaria, where they run into a face that is unfamiliar to Geralt...
> 
> But very familiar to Jaskier.

Jaskier was used to the cold. He'd spent over 50 years in Creyden, one of the northernmost spots in the Northern Realms. During the summer, the sun would be out until midnight, and in the winter they were lucky to see it at all. Cold wasn't a problem to him, and he doubted it ever would be. But despite this, the cold of Temeria was different. Where in Creyden it was howling winds and piles of snow, ice floating in the ocean... in Temeria, it was a cold that slowly seeped into your very bones, a cold that crept up on you. You didn't realize how deep it had dug until you were delirious from it, and an hour later dead.

It left even Jaskier shivering, despite his heavy travel cloak. At a glance, Jaskier thought he could see some redness to Geralt's face as well.

"Please remind me why we're in the middle of nowhere, in the freezing cold," Jaskier muttered, gripping the reins of his horse tighter and tugging at his cloak.

"I thought you said you didn't mind the cold?" Geralt asked, eyes scanning the darkness around them, unlit by the glow of their lanterns.

"I don't, not usually. But the longer you stay out here, the colder it seems to get. At least in Creyden, you could adjust," Jaskier snapped, glancing at the spot Geralt had just been looking and wishing he had a Witcher's night vision. "Please tell me there isn't anything within a ten-mile radius here that wants to kill us."

"Hmm..."

Jaskier sighed and chewed on his bottom lip, gazing out at the road ahead. The sun was setting rapidly, and if Jaskier knew anything about the cold, it was that it was twice as dangerous at night, as were the creatures that braved it. The sorrel mare under him, a gift from a few weeks ago after he healed a farmer's daughter and invoked the law of surprise as payment, tossed her head and whinnied softly, and Jaskier patted her neck. He couldn't blame her for being skittish out here; he was too. Even Roach, despite her incredible bravery, seemed off-put by the dark, leafless forest, and Geralt kept darting his eyes around them, trying to see any threat before it could become a real problem.

Though he was unable to look behind them.

Suddenly, Jaskier's horse whinnied and stopped, prancing in place, as did Roach a little bit ahead of him. Jaskier and Geralt both tried to soothe their mounts, but to no avail, something had worked them up. The moment they dismounted, both mares sprinted off down the road. Jaskier watched after them, a feeling of mounting terror growing in the pit of his stomach, and worry closing his throat. The forest had been silent before, but now it was like sound had simply been removed from the world. Jaskier could hear nothing, not even the beating of his own heart or the breath from his lungs. Then, breaking the silence, something broke a stick under its feet, the snap echoing through the cold air around them. Jaskier held his breath, and Geralt drew his silver sword.

Then it charged.

Jaskier had seen wolves before, but this one was twice the size and stood on two feet. Before Geralt could react, the creature threw itself at Jaskier, who barely scrambled out of the way, feet slipping on a patch of ice and sending him sprawling. He scrambled backward, hauling himself away from the werewolf as it lumbered over him.

"Stop!" Geralt yelled, and the werewolf whipped around. "Leave the bard be."

"Bard?" the beast snorted, turning to face the Witcher. "This is no _bard_ , witcher. He is a witch."

Geralt hesitated, before speaking again. "He is a mage, yes, but he's a healer. He's useless at offensive magic."

Jaskier felt his face heat, partially in embarrassment and partially in anger. Geralt slowly approached the werewolf, holding his sword in a defensive manner.

The werewolf growled at him, moving away from Jaskier, who scrambled to his feet and well out of the way. He appraised Geralt and then bared his teeth in something resembling a smirk. "I've never feasted on a witcher before..." and then lunged, Geralt leaping out of the way just in time. "And I've only ever tasted a mage's flesh once before."

"I don't have to kill you." Geralt said, trying to split his attention between the werewolf and Jaskier. "I don't kill sentient monsters if I don't have to."

The werewolf barked out a laugh. "You're a witcher. Your whole purpose is killing monsters; your kind doesn't discriminate!"

Geralt sent a look at Jaskier, a plea, as though he were asking for his help. And Geralt was right to; they still had a chance to surprise the creature and turn the battle in their favor, so long as Jaskier cast the spell soon enough. The magic was at his fingertips, ready to be released, and he pulled himself up onto his knees, and...

...he couldn't do it. He couldn't find it in himself to release the torrent that lay fidgeting beneath his skin. His hands shook, and he saw the disappointment in Geralt's face, and the sting of that disappointment ached in his very chest. Forced to sit on the sidelines, Jaskier watched as Geralt swung his sword at the werewolf, who lept back, baring his teeth. Geralt swung again, faster than the beast, and caught it in the leg, crippling it. The werewolf fell to its knees as blood gathered in the snow and slush beneath it, scowling up at Geralt. "You said you don't kill sentient monsters."

"And you're not dead, are you?" Geralt bared his teeth. "But you were willing to kill me and Jaskier for nothing more than another meal. I cannot let you leave alive."

The werewolf roared in anger, and Geralt brought it's sword across the beast's neck, decapitating it. Certain it was dead, Jaskier rose shakily to his feet. Geralt said nothing as he walked past him, but Jaskier caught a glimpse of the frustration on his face and followed meekly after.

A while later down the road, they caught up to their horses, still spooked by the werewolf. Both men silently mounted, Jaskier unusually silent, his eyes fixed on the line of light on the horizon, as dark truly began to blanket them. According to Geralt, there was a village ahead of them, but Jaskier thought to himself that it was going to be a hard, fast ride. The werewolf would only be the beginning of their monster problems if they didn't reach the village soon.

When they finally reached the village, both of their mounts were breathing hard, and Jaskier was certain riding would be difficult the next morning; it had been a long while since they'd had to ride like that. They dismounted and walked the horses to a stable outside the local inn. Geralt said nothing to Jaskier as they tied their horses up and ensured there was food and water. The witcher didn't so much as look at him as they stepped out of the cold night and into the warm light of the tavern.

And then Jaskier suddenly stopped, staring wide-eyed at a woman sitting in the corner of the inn, a glass of deep red wine in front of her. Geralt glances at him, and then at the woman with a raised eyebrow. The woman stands from her corner, wine in hand, and approaches them. She largely ignores Geralt, instead focusing on Jaskier, giving him a quick but scrutinizing look.

"You're a mess," she says, voice strong and commanding.

"I-I... I thought you'd died. On Sodden Hill..." Jaskier murmured, a sort of shocked reverence on his face.

"And you were suspiciously absent from the battle. That's not like you, Julian," the sorceress says, then finally turns to Geralt with a slight smile. "You must be Geralt of Rivia. I have heard far too much about you, to be honest."

"Acquainted with Yennefer?"

"She was one of my students at Aretuza."

"Hmm." Geralt turns, heading towards the bar where the innkeeper is working, and the man startles badly at the witcher's approach. Jaskier sighs and shakes his head, then turns back to Tissaia.

"Let's talk somewhere else; we won't be missed for a moment or so, I imagine." Tissaia summons a portal in the middle of the room, and several of the patrons dart away from the magic. Jaskier follows her through it, silent and cowed in the woman's presence. 

They stepped out into a practice room in Aretuza, devoid of anyone, mage or otherwise. Tissaia turned to Jaskier, silent for a moment as he glanced around the room. He had only visited Aretuza once, during the initiation of the girls in the same year as him, and then he had only really seen the ballroom and entrance hall. 

Finally, Tissaia spoke again. "Why weren't you at Sodden Hill with the rest of the brotherhood?"

Jaskier felt like his feet had frozen to the floor (which they might have, given the cold), and swallowed hard, his throat unusually dry. "I-I... didn't think I'd be of any help. You seemed to have it handled, what would a lesser mage such as myself-"

" _Julian_ -"

"What could I even do? Stand on the sidelines and write songs?" Jaskier tugged at his collar, his eyes glued to a point somewhere out the window. "Besides, Yennefer took out practically the entire army on her own, it seems-"

"You should have been up there with her." Tissaia snapped, and Jaskier looked up at her, feeling shame heat his face. "You are strong enough that both of you should have taken that fire and put an end to the army. And you know that!"

"I don't need you to tell me that." Jaskier hissed, his throat tight. "I have nothing to prove."

"You have everything to prove."

Jaskier turned and summoned a portal in the center of the room that would bring him back to the inn, as his emotions threatened to boil over and hot tears pricked at his eyes. "I will not prove anything to you, or to Yennefer, or to- to anyone."

"Why, because you're sick of being second best-" Tissaia said, scowling at the mage's back as he retreated.

"I AM SECOND TO NO ONE!" Jaskier yelled, spinning on his heel as the room echoed with his words and tears streamed down his face.

"You are second so long as you refuse to acknowledge your full power! You are so much more than this, Julian..." Tissaia whispered, looking into his eyes. "And you know that too."

Jaskier released a shuddering breath as he looked at her. "I can't..." he whispered, as his tears dripped onto the stone. "I can't."

Tissaia looked into his eyes, vibrant blue redrimmed from emotion. "Why?"

Memories, unbidden, filled his mind. The boy, back when he first discovered his magic, torn apart by a bolt of lightning in the middle of a cloudless day. An assassin, his frozen remains shattered before Prince Fredefalk's throne. A prophecy, self-fulfilling, of 60 girls in golden crowns. Fire, consuming a building full of people on an order he was forced to follow. The roof of a manor caved in by a freed djinn. Death and destruction and blood... so much blood, all of it dripping from hands that plucked strings on a lute as though he were an innocent bard, a coward, afraid of power...

Afraid of his own power.

Tissaia rested a shaking hand on the side of his face. "Sometimes, there are accidents... sometimes acts of heroism... and sometimes there are mistakes. Over the years, I have found that we have very little say in which is which. Destiny has a funny way of determining that for us. You cannot hold yourself responsible for every small thing... Oftentimes, things are veiled and uncertain. You must remember that."

* * *

"You're back." Geralt said in way of greeting as Jaskier sat across from him at the table, Tissaia just behind him.

Jaskier, for once, didn't respond, merely rested his forehead on his clasped hands, staring down at the table, so Geralt turned his attention to the sorceress standing next to him, raising an eyebrow in a silent question.

"I have a contract for you, white wolf. There is an archgriffin that has taken roost in the forest nearby. It is far too close to the academy for my liking, and beyond that it's acid is a useful ingredient in alchemy. I will pay you handsomely." Tissaia said. "But I have one request regarding it."

"And that is?" Geralt asked, narrowing his eyes and frowning up at the sorceress.

"Take Julian with you, the whole way," Tissaia said.

Geralt glanced over at Jaskier, who said nothing in response. "... I don't like it, but fine. We'll kill the archgriffin and bring back the acid."

The next morning, the pair set off in the direction Tissaia had pointed them, Jaskier still completely silent. Geralt even tried to get him to talk a few times but to no avail. Before long, they got close enough to the nest that Geralt could smell the archgriffin, and dismounted their horses, heading up the hill. Just before they got over the top, Geralt turned to look at Jaskier.

"You don't have to come up there. I'm not going to force you, regardless of what the witch says."

Jaskier sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "This isn't about Tissaia; I'm coming with you."

Geralt simply nodded, and the two hiked up the hill, where the archgriffin was waiting at the top. It gave a mighty screech when it saw them, then took to the air, circling overhead. Geralt pulled out his crossbow and approached with caution. The beast swooped down, trying to grab at the witcher, but he ducked and the claws soared just over his scalp as Geralt fired his crossbow, just missing one of the giant wings. Jaskier hesitated; he knew exactly what he needed to do, but it was dangerous. There was a very real possibility Geralt would get caught in the crossfire.

But as the fight dragged on, and the archgriffin got in several good hits, leaving deep gouges in Geralt's flesh, Jaskier began to wonder if he had much of a choice. Geralt was slowing, while the archgriffin seemed to be reveling in its inevitable victory. The griffin landed in front of Geralt, who raised his sword as the creature reared back onto its hind legs and came down, ripping its claws into Geralt's chest and sending him sprawling.

" _No_!" Jaskier sprinted across the roam, skidding to a stop in the bloody snow next to Geralt, who groaned weakly. Jaskier dropped to his knees, frantically examining the wounds, when the archgriffin shrieked again, bringing Jaskier back to his senses, and with it came an overwhelming cloud of anger and rage; anger at himself for letting this happen, and anger at the griffin for hurting the one person he cared about more than anyone else.

The snow was cold under his feet, and the wind whipped his hair and cloak, and he used it. He pulled the wind into him, and stood in front of the archgriffin, staring it down. The creature screeched at him and reared again, but this time, it was met with the force of a blizzard, pushing it back, ice growing on its wings as Jaskier directed every inch of power and chaos into the cold around them...

...and slowly, the archgriffin froze solid.

Jaskier hesitated for a moment, staring at the monster frozen on its hind legs, but then lightning crackled at his fingertips, and he blasted the archgriffin apart, frozen chunks of flesh and feather scattering across the hilltop. Jaskier dropped to his knees beside Geralt, ignoring the carnage around him, and rested his hands on the wounds, channeling magic into them and muttering elder.

But it wasn't working; he'd used so much of strength killing the griffin that he was lacking in the ability to heal Geralt. Tears fell down his face, and his shoulders shuddered as he tried in vain to heal the witcher as the cold sapped the life from his body.

"Geralt, please... you can't leave me... please..." Jaskier sobbed, clenching his fists and resting his head on Geralt's chest as the cold began to take over Jaskier's body, slowly but surely killing him. "Not like this. I'm sorry I was too late, that I was so useless, but I can't do this without you." And then darkness fell over Jaskier's vision, and his body went numb.

* * *

To Jaskier's surprise, he woke up. The air was warm, and a fire crackled in the nearby hearth. One look around him told him that he was back in Aretuza, and he had a good guess as to how he ended up there. He sat up, his body stiff and aching, and looked around the room. It seemed to be empty, except for himself. Carefully, oh so very carefully, he hauled himself to his feet. Some simple black clothes had been laid out for him, and he gently tugged them on and shoved his feet into his boots before heading out into the hall, which stood empty as well.

By some miracle, he ran into Tissaia and immediately opened his mouth, intending to demand that she tell him where Geralt was, but she beat him to it.

"He's alive. Merely resting in another room; I figured it may be wise to keep you two apart for a time, given how much you like to talk. He's awake as well, asked to see you." She turned and pointed to a door a little ways down, and Jaskier darted past her and opened the door.

Sure enough, Geralt was sitting up in bed, thumbing through a bestiary Tissaia must have lent him. He glanced up when the door open, and then set the book down, his face melting into a rare smile. "You're alive." Geralt said, his voice raspy with pain and emotion.

Jaskier fell to his knees beside Geralt's bed, taking the man's larger hand in both of his own. "So are you. I thought I'd lost you for sure."

"Hmm..." Geralt's smile faded a little, but his expression was still one of joy and contentment. "Tissaia told me what happened. I thought you didn't use offensive magic anymore?"

"Truth is, I was scared of it. Healing is one thing, but killing things with magic?" Jaskier shook his head and squeezed Geralt's hand. "After Aridea asked me to burn down that house to get rid of a political rival, I... I couldn't use my magic for that kind of thing. I was scared of hurting the people I cared about you. Scared of hurting Renfri, scared of hurting you." Jaskier laughed, bitter and dark. "And look where that got me. Renfri is dead, and you barely survived." Jaskier sighed and looked up into Geralt's gold eyes. "But I'm not scared anymore. I won't be; magic always comes with a cost, but that cost doesn't have to be the people I love."

Geralt blinked down at him. "The people you-?"

Jaskier huffed and reached up, cupping Geralt's face with a hand. "Yes, I love you, you dense moron. I think I've loved you since you saved me from the djinn. Hell, maybe even since we escaped from Filivandrel."

Geralt looked at him for a long moment, then leaned forward and gently kissed Jaskier on the mouth. Jaskier made a surprised noise but leaned in eagerly. They stayed like that for a long moment, until Geralt finally pulled away and rested his forehead against Jaskier's.

"I love you too," the witcher murmured and Jaskier smiled, content to stay in the moment forever.


End file.
